The Merchant's Jaunt
by CombinedSyndicates
Summary: Tales of misadventure, trade and conmanship from a persistent Bob-omb merchant hailing from Rogueport.


_The bulbous yellow star that orbited a flaky, green sphere of life illuminated and, well, slightly scorched the sulky sands and stalwart sailors and citizens atop the crusty docks and pavement and floorboards of a moving, breathing Rogueport. It was a glorious sight, truly. The most active, prestigious, prosperous, metropolitan and pompous port in possibly the whole world. Men bearing goods from Sarasaland to Bowser's Castle and beyond came hither and thither to trade, banter and argue in this center of life and attention and hustle and labor. It was where people made their careers, their capital and where they coerced, coddled and combatted with their partners, friends, enemies and everyone in between. This was most certainly a hotbed of absolute subdued chaos; conflicts of interest as far as the eye could see and city built to facilitate and fuel those skirmishes, whether verbal or physical. Simply put, it was paradise. Especially for a young fellow dwelling in the aptly-named three-story house dubbed the 'Powder Keg,' a testament to what enough money and charisma could get you in life. He was a Bob-omb, a short, stubby little automaton, his wallets stuffed with cascades of coins and an even bigger reputation to go along with it. He bore a red scarf, blue cap and striking white boots to complete his pure-black exterior and intriguing pale-white, pupil-less eyes. His character was staunch; a conniving, ruthless but calm and concise person that switched from side-to-side of the coin constantly, fueled by a relentless pursuit of fame, conversation and cash whether by his craftiness, gregariousness or just by dumb luck. He didn't care, all that mattered was that he got at least one of those three things. _

He leapt out of his lavish bed that was way too big for his stout size, and rubbed his eyes against the wall for a moment. It was early in the morning, and he had business to attend not far off. As was his tradition, though, he picked up his diary booklet from his lofty shelf and got to work...

**September 21st...early in the ol' mornin'.**

Bah. The day's just begun for my sorry old self and honestly...I couldn't be more excited! There's so much to do in my hearty ol' life that I'm just left perspirating with anticipation. My pen bursts with pure-blue ink and its luscious lathering of letters will help immortalize my adventures and travels for years to come...hopefully. Who knows, maybe someone'll find it interesting. Or they'll just dump it into a trash can, heh!

I ambled down the stiff wooden planks of the stairs to eventually end up out of the Powder Keg and into the squirmering streets of Rogueport. Oh, how busy it was! Passerbys cutting through shagged edges of traffic, guys standing indiscriminately in one place for minutes on end, blockages along the sidewalk, it was hysteria. Thankfully, I was able to scramble to the nearest tavern in time for my cap to stay firmly on my forehead, soon-to-be thieves of its beauty foiled once again. I stepped across the rather bland orange floor of the establishment to be caught up in the carniverous clutches of a countertop where a few other scraggly men sat rather peturbed, but patient.

**"Ah, my client is...yes...Bombino."**

Spoke the voice of none other then my similarly cutthroat business partner, Frank, a Koopa with a mundane name but with all the reputation of a financial mastermind. He'd helped fund my 'expeditions' for treasure and items, splitting the succeeding coinage between the two of us. He'd become one of my most trustworthy and reliable friends, even if his economical acknowledgement of my presence at this foul, grimy, beverage-soaked table suggested I was just another one of his countless clientele, performing his dirty work."Why, salutations, my good mate Frank! No need to be so courteous. Anyways, what's the deal this time?" I'd take a swig of whatever the drink was in front of me.

"I'm overjoyed you ask, my good chum. It's time for you to expand into more...serious matters of business. Not just around Rogueport, either. Gangs. Local politics. Franchises. A bit of violence here and there, the works. Sound interested? I'm sure your wallet is," he offered, somehow having a more gutteral and gritty voice than I had, the bastard.I'd frought at the mouth, puttting the bottle down. "Ah, I was getting bored of the usual wheeling and dealing of artifacts and valuables willy nilly, anyway! Sign me up!" Truly, this was a vast, but auspicious proposition! What further riches could be abound? What ideas to explore? What communities to help and who to befriend and make war on?

"Excellent, because I don't exactly have much time left. Costs are mounting up for my trading company and I need a bit of a jolt in funds to keep things going. So, allow us to jaunt over to the base, Bombino?"

I quickly nodded, anticipating something big...or at least interesting for me to go through the effort of salivating. So, we exited the bar and Frank led me to an...interesting alley not far from the harbor where a strange silver-wall building laid. With a few knocks of the hand, its dark-red door bearing the name "FCTC" scribbled rather haphazardly swung right open, and I was led inside the body of this great beast...

What was revealed? Nothing less than a one-story complex of nicely planked floorboards with patterns perfectly incrusted, people working out and about on maps, storage boxes and items while others merely gawked at some of the facility's paintings, aghast at their grandeur and pricelessness. I, too, was impressed to the highest echelons by the place, from the little details in the walls to the aligned hanging torches and the magnificent canvases depicting beautifully the wonders of Rogueport and far, far beyond. I'd never been to this sullied place before, but now it seemed that I'd not want to leave, to not stop admiring its breadth of sheer unrelenting beauty. It was quite the...unsung sight to behold.

Frank finally reached the end of this elegant edifice, where an unlit room stood. Aptly rekindling the torches' flames, he uncovered a quaint room with simply a chalkboard and a few chairs to fill it. I sat down after commands from him, and he drew my inquisitive eyes into the lowly chalkboard, oddly dazed by its blank slate of simplicity...

**"Now, heed this very closely..."**

I lay perched on a comfy wooden chair, thinking: what could happen next? I knew i was going to have a lecture bombarded at me, possibly at a pace that was indeed too brisk, but of what and why? Mhm, would this lead me to further greatness in my upcoming expeditions and voyages? Or was it just to soak up all my time? That was all to be laid bare, soon enough...


End file.
